


Underwater

by TGP



Series: Eyesight [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Genderqueer!Harry, Mentions and allusions to sexual assault, Paternity, Responsible hospital staff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGP/pseuds/TGP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night Jamie is born, Harry sets aside one of the monsters in his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Underwater

The thing is-  
  
 _Everything sounded like it was underwater and when he managed to catch a breath, it was harsh and shallow and the air tasted rancid on his tongue. He couldn’t think, couldn’t string more than a few words before he lost his place, lost himself, and he couldn’t make his arms work, his legs-_  
  
The thing is, in the Wizarding World, they don’t warn you about this kind of thing. Not really. They just expect everyone to know, to have had that important discussion with their parents because it is private and embarrassing and must be handed delicately, and who better to do so than them? And besides, everyone just ends up knowing. You can’t keep from hearing something or other. You can’t miss it.  
  
Harry missed it.  
  
 _-keeps thinking about his drink, how it had tasted weird. Thought he heard something but he couldn’t track it, not the way he kept feeling things so strange on his skin, so strange and muted and wrong. Like pins underneath, not quite painful but wrong, very wrong, and when they gripped his wrists, it felt so tight like he might be crushed. Like he might break-_  
  
The hospital room is very quiet without his lovers around. He appreciates it after the hard work he put in today. It’s been six hours since he delivered his son, his Jamie. He’s tired, sore, and he should be resting but he isn’t. Instead, Harry stares out the window and he waits.  
  
He needs to know. He’s terrified to know but he can’t run from this. Harry has never been able to run from anything in his life, at least not for long, and he’s not starting now. He rests a hand over his belly, so much smaller now, and feels a loss. Jamie was six hours old, born late into the evening when the moon was already high and bright and if he’d been a girl, Harry would have named her Luna. He remembers staring at the white shape in the window as he delivered and feeling as if it were trying to save him.  
  
 _-kept choking on the pillow as he forgot how to keep his head up, couldn’t find the strength to do it. Everytime he almost got his footing, they pushed him, rocked his body, and he was back to square one. He couldn’t understand a word they said to him, barely registered when they touched until they held too hard, until it **hurt-**_  
  
He blinks back to himself as there’s a quiet knock and Madame Greensleeves pokes her head in. She doesn’t quite look relieved to see him awake but she comes inside and closes the door behind her.  
  
“Is it him?” Harry asks bluntly because there is no other reason for her to be here when it’s not even dawn yet.  
  
“I don’t know what result you were hoping for,” Madam Greensleeves says instead of answering, a thin folder in her hands. She comes to stand beside his bed, all grave and quiet. “Are you sure you want to know? You didn’t seem-”

_-and he didn’t cry, but not because he was strong. Because he couldn’t remember how-_

“I don’t.” Harry’s hands curl tight in the sheets. “I don’t, but I need to. If it isn’t him, if it’s- I need to know.”  
  
The mediwich nods, her gaze softening. She hands the folder over and as Harry opens it to look at the pages inside, she murmurs, “The sample matched. He’s definitely that child’s other parent, whoever he is.”  
  
All at once, Harry feels tension flow from him. He’s almost shaking after and Madam Greensleeves kindly takes the folder back so he can revel in the knowledge. He didn’t think he cared this much, but now that he knows, for sure, it’s as if a great weight has fallen away from his shoulders. He covers his face a moment, then rakes his fingers back into his hair and out again, laying back limp against his pillows.  
  
“I am going to ask a difficult question,” Madam Greensleeves says and Harry already knows what it is.  
  
“Yes,” he says simply.  
  
She closes her eyes a moment and he realizes she’d been desperately wishing she was wrong. After a moment, she reaches out and takes his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.  
  
“Did you report it?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Does anyone else know?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Your lovers?”  
  
He almost chokes at the very notion. She squeezes his shoulder again.  
  
“I won’t tell you what to do, but... It may help you recover if you talk to them about it,” she said in a softer tone. “And you could report it, make sure what happened doesn’t to someone else.”  
  
 _-screaming so far away but he knew it wasn’t, not really. He knew it had to be close but all he could concentrate on was the rough weave of Neville’s jacket under his cheek, the heavy firmness of Neville's arm around him, anchoring him. Keeping him from slipping away to them and what they had done-_  
  
“It won’t.” Harry shivers a little. “It won’t happen again. They’re dead.”  
  
She nods and then lets go. “Promise me you will think about talking to them.”  
  
He doesn’t but after a moment, she lets it drop and instead checks all his vitals. He lets her fuss and then when she finally leaves, he settles back and looks out at the moon again. He tries not to remember what happened but instead how Neville had helped him after, had healed him and helped sober him up from whatever concoction they'd slipped him and how he’d played along with the story Harry came up with for what had happened while he was captured because that is what Harry needed him to do. It’s part of why Neville is Jamie’s godfather. Neville is one of the best friends Harry has ever had.  
  
Maybe Harry could talk to him. Eventually.  
  
His hand feels warm over his empty belly and he tells himself that it’s going to be fine now. Everything is going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone was wondering, this is a big part of Harry's secret.


End file.
